


White Nights

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Post-Sirius in Azkaban, Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RL/SB post slash. RL/SB depressed - right up my street doncha think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

The trouble is, when one is already something of a fuck up fucked up things happen to one.

This makes it very hard to establish which of the many fucked up life events one has encountered are the ones that fucked one up and which are the ones that happened to one because one was already a fuck up. Do you follow? Where is the cut off point?

Falling in love with a werewolf, that was the first thing, I suppose.

Being responsible for my best friends dying in the most terrible way.

Spending 12 years in Akaban an innocent man - well innocent of what I was accused of anyway - I guess.

Being rejected by said werewolf and finding out he's bound to me for life (something neither of us actually grasped at the time by the way, in fact I still don't quite get that).

... it just goes on.

\--

For example: When I was in Azkaban they brought this kid in and put him in the cell next to mine. Barty Crouch he was called and he was what, 18, 19? Anyway I was so relieved at the time, just because at last there was someone there who was younger than me.

Because the dementors like youth, you see, oh, do they ever. So he got their focus away from me for a bit, and I'd lie awake at night hearing him screaming and be glad...glad it wasn't me who was the centre of their late night attention for once.

Worst of all though, I pretended to be his friend. There was a little crack in the wall that we could speak through sometimes. Conversation was hard going and I realised after a couple of days that this was because he was losing his mind.

He got that high pitched lunatic laugh.

'They like me, the Dementors, they like me a lot, but they don't love me, which is good because if they loved me they might kiss me.'

He'd say something like that five times in a row, each time followed by this screechy cackle as if he had cracked the best joke in the world.

And then he died and I went back the being dementors playmate.

\--

Of all the many fucked up events in my life...sometimes my mind goes round like this for hours.

Especially at times like this...awake in the middle of the night...returning to sleep looking pretty unlikely, unless, hang on a minute....

...there's someone here, now I'm not so hung up on myself and I'm aware of my surroundings... I can hear him breathing. How on earth did I miss this before?

I roll over and push myself up against this unknown person. If only I was thinking straight I'd remember who it was. All I know is, it's not him.

Not him.

If only I hadn't drunk so much.

Some people drink to forget, some people drink to remember. I drink because...because I do. I drink therefore I am.

He mutters something, whoever he is and I press more urgently against him.

'May I?' I whisper. God that sounds so...eurgh. Am I asking him to dance? For fuck's sake.

But he doesn't seem to mind my strange burst of formality because he purrs. 'Yurrr.'

He's still slippy from earlier, which makes things easy.

Wonder who the fuck he is.

Wonder who the fuck is.

I have to make a conscious effort not to think of Remus during sex. I deliberately conjure up some Remus free hot image. Remembering that time I saw James and Lucious in the prefect's bathroom is a goodie. (Gods, how good was that Mauraders Map? And to think the Weasley's used it to steal sweets.)

But as I get nearer all thoughts but **Remus** fade from my mind and I can't...I can't. His face gets clearer and I realise I cannot come unless I pretend it's him beneath me.

I just can't. I have no choice but to give in to him.

I can't come unless I think of him and that is the simple truth. The single most fucked up thing about my life.

I can only orgasm if I think of him.

So I do and I come and then I can sleep.

La End


End file.
